Saturday, August 1, 2009

#0044 | 08/01 | 03:04 PM

The doggies came back to play last night. And I guess they found what they were pawing around for: the dead dog-Freak we'd shot down two days ago. The one that had gotten inside the central building and killed off Sean and Colin.

We didn't feel comfortable lugging it into the graveyard then (that's the classroom - 216 - filled with, you guessed it, corpses) what with it being infected and all. So we had dumped the thing in one of the northern building's first floor classrooms.

We're all on edge. Guess that's only to be expected when all one can hear at night is the feral growling of inhuman creatures out in the night. Things creeping around, with a purpose we couldn't decipher. A purpose we could only hope, didn't involve devouring us while we screamed.

Well we know their purpose now. They were looking for their friend.

And, oh boy. Did they find him.

Around four in the morning, the things started howling like fucking crazy. We were all in the infirmary, lights out, sitting on the hard, cold floor, weapons held in clammy hands.

And when they started howling, we didn't know what the hell was up. We just looked at each other in the darkness. The fear that wasn't making itself vocal in our voices shone clearly in our eyes. The fear of uncertainty, because of course, that's all that fear is. Uncertainty.

Then a little past five, the howling stopped.

Shit, imagine that. Sitting on the floor of that cold, uncomfortable infirmary for an entire night. Those things out there doing who knows what. Then they all just sort of gather somewhere to the north and start howling.

It was a blast. Best night of rest I ever got.


We stayed in doors until daybreak - until we had the light to protect us, before we moved out to investigate. To find some hint of what had provoked the Freaks in their unforeseen behavior. I'd like to say strange behavior, but frankly, we don't know jack shit about these things. Consequently, we don't know jack shit about their behavior. Or lack of said behavior. We wanted to find something that explained their actions.

And boy did we find it.

There was a dead dog-Freak stretched out near the northern building, near the northern yard's farthest side. It was lying on its back, spread eagle strangely on the morning pavement. A trail of dried coppery blood leading from a classroom door that laid open - the door seemingly blasted open from its hinges and laying inside.

At first we assumed it was a dog that had perished last night for whatever reason, but a closer inspection proved that we were wrong.

It was the same dog-Freak we'd hid in the northern building. The same one that had killed Sean.

The rotting flesh and bullet holes proved it. The trail of blood leading from where we'd chucked the corpse helped.

So we were left with quite a dilemma. What the fuck have the dog-Freaks been doing, dragging out this fellow from the building and howling like idiots around him?

They were mourning.

No fuck that.

But it makes sense.

Sense? Freaks make sense?

What else could it be?


Fuck, fuck, fuck.

For the past two nights, the dog-pack had been looking for their felled friend. Then they found him last night and started mourning...

What does this mean?

Fuck if I know. But if anything, it can only be trouble. That's all it ever is these freaking days...


Hector is ill. He's developed a fever as of late. And he's looking a little pale. He's holed up in his classroom now. Retching. But not vomiting (I don't think any of us have enough in out stomach for that). Henry offered him some of painkillers he's got Monica on but Hector turned him down. Which is good I guess, it would be a shame for Hector to have to use some of the limited drug supplies we can spare for Monica.

Which is understandable (I'm saying that a lot huh) of course. He's alone now, what with Sean so much dead dirt. The shock probably weakened him a bit. Count on the common cold to prevail where a freaking end-of-the-civilized-world-virus failed, eh?

Kidding aside, I'm sure he'll get better.

But we've got bigger problems. The dog pack is one. Monica's progressing health is another. And for me, Anna is another. Not all problems are bad. And not all problems are good.

Monica should be awake by now. Bad medical equipment (or lack of) and serious injuries aside, it's been far too long, according to Henry. She should be showing some signs of getting better by now. At least somewhat active. Her pulse should be strengthening instead of continuing its weak beat.

I mean, it's not going to be pretty when she gets up. But still. Her heart rate is slow. Her breathing labored. But her expression seems so calm...

And Anna. She's convinced Colin is alive.


No offense or anything but that kid is stone cold dead. But she doesn't believe it.

We we're talking earlier and the subject broached Colin's fate. She firmly believes Colin is alive. Beats me why. But she made me promise I wouldn't assume Colin was dead. Basically, a scowl crossed her gentle features and she wouldn't let the subject go until I promised.

Not that it matters much. The kid is dead. Sure, I promised to basically think of him as alive. Anything to drop the subject. But that kid is a goner.


  1. >>>>Count on the common cold to prevail where a freaking zombie virus failed, eh?
    >>>prevail where a freaking zombie virus failed
    >>a freaking zombie virus

    Fail, shouldn't have used the word zombie.